Fruits of the Yield
by Setaflow
Summary: Hunger Games AU. When 17 year old Desmond Miles is chosen as the District 12 victor for the next Hunger Games, he's certain his death has been sealed. The other tributes are all more capable, more skilled, and more willing to fight than he is. However, behind the playing of the Games is a plan for destruction, one that will require the strength of all the tributes to succeed in.


**Hello all!**

**I thought of this story a while ago when I was mulling over a proper Assassin's Creed Hunger Games AU, but nothing really spectacular was really standing out on the site and I had plenty of other ideas anyway, so I decided to see how it would work if i put it on paper. And this was the result. **

**This will include characters from all main AC games, including Rouge and Unity. Hope y'all enjoy!**

**I don't own anything from Hunger Games or from Assassin's Creed. I do, however, own any OCs that may appear in this story.**

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><p>Desmond hated everything.<p>

He hated his stupid life. He hated his stupid country. But most of all, he hated his stupid government. Of course, Desmond Miles sounded like any disgruntled seventeen year old boy would sound in District Twelve, arguably the most rebellious of the Panem districts that hadn't been blown up. He would go to school and talk about crackpot plans to overthrow the government with his school friends, but what use were words when he was, as of about ten hours ago, miles and miles away from the Capital.

Desmond could hardly reflect on those last days of good humor as his father prepped his outfit. Reaping day, his favorite day of the year. Desmond had a sinking feeling that William probably would've volunteered his own son if he had the ability; after his mother died just before his first reaping, Desmond's father became both begrudgingly distant and unnecessarily strict. When he wasn't working in the coal mines, he was making sure that Desmond was on top of his game. Desmond didn't really know the purpose of this, but it was crazy either way. If his son wasn't in his room by six, three hours before their scheduled curfew, William would lock the door, no questioned asked. Desmond spent countless nights outside his house rather than in his bed until his father would let him in as he went to work. Their new relationship had created a definite rift in their lives, but today, on reaping, William looked genuinely saddened to be fixing his son's color for what could have been the last time.

William stepped back and allowed Desmond to look in the cracked mirror of their shallow shack. Not much, just a good pair of pants and the only collared shirt he owned. Desmond's close-cropped hair looked darker with his olive skin and dark eyes, and he rubbed the scar over his lips that he had gotten when a peacekeeper had found him too close to the district fence when he had barely hit puberty. God, his mother had thrown a fit that day when he came back all bloody and crying. Thinking about it made just made Desmond feel tired.

"You look…decent," William sounded from the corner.

"Thanks."

An awkward silence hung in the air like coal dust. Desmond turned to face his father one last time. "Thirty times, right?"

William nodded. "That should be enough to last us awhile."

Thirty times. That was how many times his name was in there out of hundreds upon hundreds of eligible children in District Twelve. That was a lot of food for just the two of them, enough to survive winter without much trouble. Desmond wasn't fond of math, especially not fractions, but what did that make his chances of surviving until his last year? He had no clue.

A horn blared somewhere. Reaping time.

With one last nod to his father, Desmond hurried out of the door and was greeted by a stream of Seam teenagers. Desmond quickly found a group of his school friends and tried to fit in and talk, but no one was buying his attempts to lighten the situation. After a while, the Seam kids merged with the kids from the Merchant section, blonde haired and black haired kids all forming one large death march to the district square, where some representatives from the Capital were already set up in pastels, ready to start with fake grins and encouraging nods.

As Desmond settled into his place and listened, bored out of his mind after hearing the same idle talk about rebellions and wars and stuff, he glanced across the way to the girls. He noticed how all the girls from the Seam looked hollow-eyed and scared, while on the other hand all the girls from the Merchant Section looked relatively relaxed, or more relaxed than he felt, at least. A twinge of anger burst through his body, and Desmond returned his attention up front just in time to see the Peacekeepers bring out the two bowls. They were about three-fourths of the way up with slips of paper that would pretty much seal the death of two kids. No one from District Twelve survived the Games.

The district's representative…or escort? Desmond didn't really care at this point. Anyway, he was some guy named Clay, and offered Desmond at least a little more breathing room as he approached the ladies bowl first. He dug in and selected on tiny slip of paper, reading it out loud with no disregard for the teens below him.

"Lucy Stillman!" he called out, waving his little piece of paper around and scanning the crowd of girls below him. "Lucy Stillman!? Are you there!?"

There were a few audible gasps, and to Desmond's amusement, a blonde haired girl stepped out and approached the stage. Her hair was in a bun, and she wore a pretty flowered dress that didn't seem to match the hardened look she gave Clay on stage. Desmond had seen her, but she was a year below him and they never really talked much. Besides, Seam kids stuck together no matter what, as did the Merchant kids, and didn't give the other much acknowledgement. Lucy's escort greeted her, but she snapped a few words to him and he backed off almost immediately. "Someone's got spirit," Clay announced into the microphone, causing a few people to laugh half-heartedly. Lucy curled her lip and stood next to her bowl with her arms crossed.

Desmond was so caught up in wondering how Lucy's Merchant parents were going to react to her dying that he didn't see Clay approach the boys bowl and dig out another slip.

"Desmond Miles!?" Clay announced.

Desmond snapped out of his trance. "What?"

All eyes snapped to him, and he immediately felt himself shrink inside his skin as Clay waved his hand and pointed to the stairs, asking him to come up. All of the sudden, mortification, despair, and horror burst through Desmond like an explosion, and he found it impossible to move his legs. Not with so many people watching.

Some douche from behind him gave him a shove, and Desmond stumbled out of the crowd, tripping on his own two feet. Head down and humiliated, Desmond made the long trudge up to Clay and Lucy, standing next to the bowl. He kept staring at the ground, not even bothering to look people in the eye. As Clay began his boring speech about the Capitol and the Games, Desmond's only focus was trying to swallow his own shame. He was going to die. He was never going to see his craphole of a home ever again.

"Des."

Desmond blinked and, forgetting momentarily about his own self-pity, lifted his head to see Lucy Stillman hissing at him from across the stage. She tapped two fingers under her chin and went back to staring straight ahead as Clay rambled on. Desmond stared until he realized what she was saying: _hold your head up._

Slowly, Desmond lifted his head and stared at the rest of District Twelve before him. Cameras and televisions floated around him, trying to get good images of the boy victor. Upon scanning the crowd, he caught sight of his father first. Locking eyes, William Miles nodded, a hardened but anguished look in the old man's eyes. Unable to look his father in the face anymore, Desmond glanced at the crowd of teens in front of him, his friends. But they all averted his eyes.

"And that concludes the Reaping of District Twelve," Clay's voice snapped Desmond back to reality, "Happy Hunger Games, you two, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

For the second time in a few minutes, Desmond was pushed, this time by a wayward Peacekeeper, towards Clay. His escort, not missing a beat, grabbed him by the wrist rather roughly. He held his right arm up, as he did with Lucy, also forced up against her will. No one cheered.

The cameras went black, the TVs shut off, and Clay marched Desmond and Lucy off stage and into the Town Hall building. The doors were open and shut by the Peacekeepers, trapping the two of them and their eccentric host in the dark and away from the sunlight and their friends. Both Desmond and Lucy tore their arms away from Clay's grip and rubbed their wrists, glowering at their escort. Clay, however, paid no attention.

"Congratulations, you two," Clay was still exuberant, acting as though he didn't notice his two tribute's steeled expressions. "Well, you two will have some time to yourselves, and then some time with your families and friends, and then we board the tribute train and head to the Capital. Oh, you two will love it there! And before you go, you'll need to be cleaned up. Too much filth."

And with that said, Desmond and Lucy were left alone as Clay marched through the hall. As he left, Desmond could only focus on how ridiculous his blood-red suit looked.

"So," Lucy breathed. Now that Desmond could see her up close, he noticed that she in fact looked quite shaken. She was just putting on an act out there, trying to put on a brave face. She plucked at her fingers and tried to tuck her blonde hair back up above her head as it fell out of it's bun. "I guess this makes us partners?"

Desmond grimaced. "What, you think you can negotiate a deal to get us out of the arena with your merchant skills?" he snapped sarcastically, maybe a little harsher than he intended. Lucy in return became swollen red, her face tightening.

"Oh, you Seam kids are all the same," she groaned, exasperated. "You're all so proud with your moms and dads working underground and covered in rock dust. Look, we're both going to die; we might at least go down fighting together."

"I'd rather face the entire Career pack on my own than go up with you," Desmond growled. Lucy balled her fists in and out like she was trying to stop herself from punching him. Thus, Desmond didn't see it coming when she actually took a swing. She caught him in the cheek, sending the older boy reeling back.

"What's going on here?"

Desmond and Lucy both spun to see a tall, muscular built woman walking towards them. It was Bishop, the only recent member of District Twelve to win the games, and now their mentor. She was from the Seam, with her dark hair and gray eyes much like Desmond's. She was also rather young, only about ten or twelve years older than the two of them. She won based on a damn good strategy she came up with herself, which involved staying quiet during the day in a well hidden hiding space and becoming active at night, picking off competitors one by one or letting the animals or other tributes get to them first. She barely won her last fight, and Desmond took note of the tip of the long scar that ran under Bishop's shirt from the battle. He recalled everyone in District twelve celebrating the victory for a week, Desmond included, even if his five-year-old self didn't know what was happening. But when she came back to her home, Bishop didn't say a word, only silently heading to the Victor's Village and not saying anything about her experience. Things didn't help when her tributes constantly got themselves killed, be it early or by stupid intuition. Just last year, the male tribute was killed during the bloodbath in the very beginning and the female was offed after making a stupid deal with the Career pack, who ultimately stabbed her in the back. Quite literally.

"Are you serious," Bishop's voice was hard as stone, making Desmond feel both nervous and oddly guilty. "You two have been together for five minutes and you're already fighting like three-year-olds."

Desmond and Lucy exchanged a look. Lucy looked to have calmed down, apologetic even. Desmond's face still stung, but he too felt a little guilty for trying to egg her on. Bishop sighed. "Go to your chambers." She sighed, looking disappointed. "Your families are waiting for you."

With nods, Desmond and Lucy walked off down the hall, not talking. They stood apart from each other by a few good feet, each casting frustrated glances at the other. When they came upon their doors, they each turned to their separate guarded chambers, each guarded by two Peacekeepers. Without another glance, both entered to their families, and the place was silent once more.

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><p><strong>If you enjoyed, please favorite, follow, and review! Thanks for viewing! Depending on the response, I may right back soon.<strong>


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